His General's Orders
by Kievan09
Summary: When General Du Couteau orders, Talon obeys. No matter what it is. Marcus Du Couteau/Talon.


"Bow," General Du Couteau commands, and Talon obeys, bending at the hip in front of the man who owns his life. "Kneel," he says, and Talon lowers himself onto one knee without question. "Follow," His General murmurs, and Talon rises with a small clink of blades, dutifully walking after him, three paces behind, just as he was taught.

General Du Couteau gave him a house, a duty, even a name. Talon's repayment is his unwavering, unquestioning loyalty and obedience - sometimes he doesn't think it's enough: after all, what does he, a Noxian street rat, really have to offer the deadliest bladesman in all of Noxus? General Du Couteau already proved that he had the ability to do whatever Talon could. But the General has a name to keep and politics to attend to, so Talon is his insurance. If certain incidents ever got traced back to the prestigious house of Du Couteau, Talon is there to take the fall, should it ever come to that. But at least for the moment, Talon is still by his side, waiting in the wings for any order to obey.

"Come here," General Du Couteau says, beckoning him forward. Talon knows to close the door behind him as he strides to his General, head bowed, making sure to keep approximately half a pace's difference between them.

His General's hand is warm against his face, and Talon makes sure to keep his expression stoic and quiet as calloused fingers rub his cheekbone, dip downward, and brush over his mouth. He parts his lips and General Du Couteau makes a satisfied sound before his hands reach elsewhere, pulling at buckles and fabric, the mix of cloth and metal that make up Talon's clothing. Talon stays still, shifting only slightly to allow his General easier access to certain buttons or zippers. The clothes pool around his feet, and he shivers only when the hood is pulled from his head, leaving him nude.

For a while, the General simply pokes and prods, fingers running up and down the side of Talon's ribs, grabbing at the hard muscles of his arms. Once, his fingers press a scarred area near the bottom of the ribcage and Talon involuntarily squirms before correcting himself. General Du Couteau raises an eyebrow and presses at that place again, and Talon shudders and wants so badly to move away from that touch, but his General expects him to stay still and he won't disobey.

"Keep still, Talon," The General commands, before jabbing his fingers into that area. Talon takes a sharp breath as well-trimmed nails dig into his skin and his body recalls the memory of a knife sliding between his ribs, piercing his diaphragm so that he can't breathe.

He only exhales when the fingers move away to other interests. Talon looks down and sees five shallow crescent indents where a Stab Wound once was, and he shivers. It's so slight, barely a coordinated twitch of several muscles, that would've gone unnoticed by the human eye except that General Du Couteau's palms are flat across his abdomen, and the man can feel every thrum that runs through Talon's body.

General Du Couteau looks up.

For a split second, Talon's imagination runs wild. He's so used to planning for the worst on the streets of Noxus that it's still hard adjusting to his current situation. He imagines the General's frown, an overreaction, one of the many blades on the General's belt digging into his skin and he knows that despite everything, he still wouldn't move unless given permission. That's the kind of person he's become now that he's sworn his life to his General's service. The person from several years ago would scoff at who he is now.

The General says nothing, though Talon's almost positive that the man can feel the sudden adrenaline rush and heart rate spike. Instead, General Du Couteau trails two fingers along the line of thick brown hair running down from Talon's belly-button, pausing right before the base of the penis. He makes a low humming sound in his throat and taps the area twice; Talon takes that as his cue to move to the large, luxurious bed, pulling aside the decorative blankets and sitting on the plain sheets below. There's a large mirror across from the bed, which he purposefully turns away from. He's too used to the scrawny arrogance of several years ago to recognize his serious, stoic expression now.

Talon has always prided himself on being extremely adaptable. On the streets of Noxus, slow learners die quick. But while he feels that he's managed to pick up on the basics of living among Noxus High Command, the ins and outs of stealth or persuasion or whatever mission his General assigns him, even his General's personal cues and idiosyncracies, he'll never get used to this part of his job, and he hates himself for it. He is his General's tool, to be used in whatever fashion his General needs, and he's hardly even capable of that.

General Du Couteau joins him shortly, a thin rope in his hands. For Talon, it's a symbol of his incompetance, that no matter how hard he tries he'll still struggle and fight. After he gave his General a rather nasty black eye that one time, he's been restrained. Talon accepts the loops around his wrists and jerks a little as his General ties the other end to one of the bedposts. He scoots upwards on the bed so that there's a bit of slack on the rope. His General doesn't seem to mind, and the calloused hands resume roaming across his body. They eventually turn him so that he's resting with his thighs pressed against his stomach and chest, kneeling away from his General.

"You know," General Du Couteau muses, as the hands move across Talon's back, "when I found you, you were so scrawny I could count each individual bone in your back. I could see where your ribs connected to your spine." He runs his palms down along the sides of Talon's spine, as if to emphasize the taut muscle there now.

Talon stays quiet, because he's not sure what his General means by that. Is it a reminder of Talon's debt to him? Or an emphasis on how much better this life was, than the death he could have chosen? Or is he simply admiring the work and effort put into honing this tool so that it could carry out the things that needed to be done, and his physical fitness is simply a positive side effect?

Rather than answering, General Du Couteau simply rubs at a tight muscle near the base of his spine, and Talon lifts his hips and spreads his knees, balancing on his forearms. He can just barely hear the soft sounds of quiet amusement because despite his tendency to resist and the almost-imperceptable shiver that ran through his body, all the attention and rubbing and caressing did their work and he's hard.

Again, Talon is ashamed; after all, he's a tool for his General, and he's not supposed to feel pleasure from this. But he can't help it when his stomach tightens as two lubricant-slicked fingers enter him. His cock twitches as the fingers move - at first as one, and then independently, scissoring to stretch him for his General's erection. Once or twice, they brush against his prostate and he stays quiet but his entire body tenses as small waves of pleasure lap at him. Pleasure he doesn't deserve, he thinks bitterly.

When the fingers withdraw, Talon repositions himself on his forearms and spreads his knees wider. One hand holds his hips in place as his General enters him. At this point, Talon has learned not to cry out or moan. His General much prefers silence, though he'll tolerate the occasional grunt. Most times, he'll finish and excuse Talon to go wash up, and then Talon can take care of himself with his back to the shower wall.

Today, Talon is glad to be facing away from his General and away from that damn mirror; it means that he has the freedom to drop the stoic expression if he needs. He can squeeze his eyes shut or bite his lip and so long as he doesn't make a sound he's still following his orders. He's gritting his teeth, resisting the urge to thrust into the sheets underneath him, when a calloused hand wraps around his cock and begins to pump up and down.

A small keen escapes him before he realizes he even made it; Talon curses internally and pauses, unsure if his General would want to fetch the gag, but General Du Couteau simply leans down and mutters, "Don't dirty my sheets, Talon, or you'll be cleaning them with your tongue."

Talon nods as teeth bite down on his earlobe; if it weren't for that command, he would've cum right then, but he pushes it back and grits his teeth again and struggles to concentrate. He's been given a new order now, and it's his duty to carry it out to the best of his ability. He thinks about his role as a tool, his commitment to his General's orders, speculation about the details of his next major assignment, multiplication times tables, something mental, anything to take his mind off of the handjob and the feeling of his General using him, fucking him into the sheets.

All of a sudden, the motions stop. Talon breathes very carefully, controlled inhales and exhales as his General leans over to his ear again.

"Tell me what you are," he commands.

Talon swallows and does a remarkable job keeping his voice steady and calm. He only stumbles once, over the first syllable, and his General doesn't seem to care.

"I am your tool and your weapon, to be used for your convenience. I am obedient only to you. I am your assassin and your negotiator and your messenger."

"What else are you?" To emphasize, he gives Talon's cock a squeeze, and Talon has to collect himself again to maintain his composure.

"I am your whore, to be fucked whenever and however you wish."

His General lets out a low laugh and withdraws out of him. In his peripheral vision, Talon sees the flash of a blade. He steels himself for the burn of the edge against his skin, but instead the tension on his wrists falls out completely, and his hands are free. Talon pushes himself up on his palms, but before he can sit up, his General flings him onto his back. General Du Couteau might be past his prime, but his strength and dexterity haven't suffered; after all, to this day he's still the only one to have ever defeated Talon in a duel.

"Sit up," his General says, and Talon immediately does, pulling away the rope still clinging to one wrist. General Du Couteau repositions himself behind him, and suddenly Talon's looking straight into the mirror, as if in affirmation of everything he's just said. He tries to look down as General Du Couteau lifts up his hips, but a sharp bite on his neck stops him. Instead, he watches shame-faced in the mirror as his General sinks him back onto his cock, and then Talon's basically being bounced in General Du Couteau's lap, struggling to keep his expression neutral.

"You are not just my tool or my weapon or my whore," his General growls into his neck. "You are one of my most prized agents and my toy. You are all of these things, but most importantly, you are mine and mine alone. Now masturbate, and don't look away from the mirror."

If Talon wasn't already flushed, he is now. He swallows and reaches down to stroke his own erection, feeling another bite on the side of his neck.

"When I say so, I want you to orgasm. Additionally, I want you to moan so loudly when you do that all of Noxus will know your allegiance, if they had any question before."

Talon nods, a small tilt of his head towards his reflection as his General's movements become rougher, the thrusts deeper. He forces himself to wait for the command, keeping his body on the brink of orgasm until he's beginning to think his General simply forgot. Talon's used to keeping his voice silenced; he's not sure how he'll sound unchecked, but right now he can't concentrate on that. His entire body is tensed, waiting, and these are the limits of self-control, he can't, no human can't,

But no, he reminds himself. He is his General's tool, weapon, toy, whatever, and there's more expected from him than from the average human. Talon lets out a slow exhale of air, and within it is a low whine, and then General Du Couteau finally leans over and whispers, "Now."

Talon's entire body stiffens and tenses. He throws his head back and arches his back upwards and likely would've lifted his hips too if his General wasn't holding them in place. His voice starts off low, but it remembers its orders and builds in volume until he's basically yelling. He can feel his General orgasm inside of him, and he's vaguely aware that his hand is covered in his own cum as he floats down from his high.

A quick check of the sheets reveals them to be fairly clean; most of it splashed onto his own abdomen and hand, and he wonders for a moment what the exact definition of "dirtying the sheets" meant. He wonders if he'll be responsible for the couple of drops that managed to escape his notice. He looks back at his General, his half-hard cock still inside him.

"Go wash up," his General orders, withdrawing. "The maids will take care of the sheets."

Talon nods and stumbles to his feet - his legs nearly give out on him on the third step, but he regains his footing quick enough and heads towards the bathroom attached to the bedroom.

"Talon!" General Du Couteau calls after him, sounding for the first time mildly annoyed. "Have I taught you nothing? What do you do before leaving a member of High Command? Even if you're excused, do you simply turn around and walk out the door?"

Talon turns on his heel and waits, awkwardly, hovering near the door as he tries to remember the customs. He's done this for the past several years; why can't he remember now?

His General watches him struggle for a few moments before sparing him with a sigh. "You bow," he says, and Talon does.


End file.
